Ryoupunzel
by YuuGiOKaeri
Summary: Once upon a time, there lived a prince, locked in a tower. Once upon a time, there was a vagabond. Once upon a time, a vagabond rescued a prince locked in a tower. [Yu-Gi-Oh! retelling of Rapunzel]
1. Fifteen Years Ago

It was a time of strife and sadness in those days. The king and queen were doing their best to keep the people satisfied, but to no avail. There were droughts, diseases and all manners of calamities. For the rulers, there was no rest.

The queen became ill, from such stress and lack of proper nutrition—because of the drought. The king was in great despair, for she with child—their second, whom the doctors were predicting to be a daughter. Their first child was a male, only two years old at the time, yet always they had longed for a daughter. _A beautiful girl,_ the people said, nodding to each other. _She'll be a beautiful girl._

One day, when the queen felt well enough, she went to her window, pale and weak, yet knowing that she was felling _much_ better. For this, she was thankful, one hand resting gently over her swollen stomach. Not long now, she knew. Not long at all, the doctors had said. The queen smiled, breathing up the summer air.

Out the window, however, she saw something that made her heart trill, then freeze.

Despite the terrible drought, there grew bright, fresh, green rapunzel in the garden just outside of her window, within the gardens of the terrible witch, Yami Bakura.

Calling out to her husband, the queen's eyes shone with vigour, lust. They were shining in morning dew, those green leaves, the delicate purple blossoms. But should one trespass upon the witch's garden, she knew not what might happen.

"You called for me?" said the king, in a cheerful mood for the day. The pheasants were pleased enough to stop their riots for now, rain was starting out in the Eastern reaches of the kingdom and his wife would be well soon enough. All was good.

"I must have it," the queen said, hand trembling as she pointed out the rampion. "I cannot thrive without it. I crave it. I _need_ it."

"Need. . .?" The King laughed, the sound pitching up nervously. "Now, dear, be reasonable. You can't—"

"I fear I will relapse into my illness without it, even just a taste, my darling, do you love me? Do you care at all?" Looking seriously at him, the king's wife clutched the fabric about her stomach. "You do care for me, do you not?"

"Of course!" Hastily, the king agreed, reaching out to touch her shoulder. "I love you, with all my heart, with all it takes."

"Then please," the queen said, dewy brown eyes widening slowly, "show your love for me. Retrieve what may heal me and my disease-wrought body."

"That's a little melodramatic—the doctors said it was just a touch of the flu," the king muttered, scratching at his forehead where the crown pressed too deeply.

"What?" snapped the queen.

"I spoke not, my queen." The king kissed her forehead, staring out the spacious bay window. "Erm, and how might I go about fetching your heart's desire?"

"Climb out the window. It's not that hard; I used to do it all the time."

"Really, now?" The king frowned, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Well, I'll _try_ , but—"

"I _said_ , 'do you love me?'"

"Yea, right. I do." The king scotched past the queen, oofing and umphing as he tried to fit around her pregnant body. Which didn't move aside to let him through.

Finally getting past her, the king set one ginger foot out the window, catching his trousers upon the sill. "Damn," he spat, very unroyally. "Dear, could you untangle that for me?"

"Here, you clumsy oaf," she said in reply, yanking until he was freed.

"Thank you, darling dear." The king adjusted his crown, half-tripping, half-stumbling onto the ground, one shoe falling off in the whole process. Bending at the waist with a short puff and groan, he picked it up, placing it back on his foot with a lot more noise than necessary.

"Now, get that plant, there." The queen pointed, hoisting herself up. "No, no, not that one, you idiot; that's a morning glory, which looking nothing like the rapunzel. Yes, finally, that one. Now, bring it to me, dearest."

"Ah, yes, of course," the king grumbled. "Ever since the day I married you, it's been get that, get this. Good job, you insolent fool. Yap, yap, yap."

 _"_ _What?"_

"Nothing, love of my life!" the king chirped, handing over the flowery plant. "Whatever you wish, all for my beautiful bride."

"That's what I _thought_ you said." The queen moved a bit, just enough to let her husband back in the window. "Now, see? That old witch isn't such a big deal as people make the stories to seem."

"Still, we shouldn't go trying to get on Yami Bakura's bad side. I mean—"

"Oh, shut up, you old worry-wart." The queen stripped the root of its pastel green leaves, tearing them neatly in half, before placing them in her lap.

"What, you're not even going to eat them?" the King said, frowning.

"Not without a salad to go with it," the queen said, rolling her eyes. "Who was it that put sense into your head? Now, go get me a plate—a salad plate, mind you—and some salad stuff to go with this, then I can eat it."

With one long, colossal sigh, the king tramped off, muttering thing under his breath, things about women and why his father said he should've never gotten married and the sense in that and on and on about little things in that vein.

With a plate of lettuce, tomatoes, radishes and other such veggies arranged fashionably on a nice _salad_ plate, the king returned, proud of himself for the arrangement and his own wit for not neglecting to obtain a fork to go with it.

"Now?" he asked, giving the food to his beloved.

"Now," she confirmed with a wide smile.

With a deep inhale, the king watched on with curiosity as she mixed the rapunzel leaves into the pre-existing salad slowly. Stirring it with her fork, she suddenly drew back, looking into the midnight blue-violet of her husband's round eyes. "Dearest," she began, "no dressing to go upon the salad?"

"No, none." The king crossed his arms. "And you'll just have to eat it like that, too, 'cause I'm not—er, you'll ruin the flavour of the delectable rape plant I picked with care for you."

" _Rampion._ "

"Yes, yes, rampion. Eat it." The king looked out to Yami Bakura's garden, wondering how long it had taken to cultivate such a lovely ensemble of colours and odours. Really, the rampion was but a small thing, compared to other beauties within the grounds that made up the garden.

The queen nipped at her meal quietly, hands trembling with the excitement of tasting this, what she'd been desiring for almost ten whole minutes now. Her fine white teeth closed over the fork, pulling in the spinach-like leaves. The king watched nervously, deeply coloured eyes widening as he heard the woman he loved gasp slightly, then dig in deeply to the salad.

Her eyes lit up, sparkling in an inhuman way (what eyes even _sparkle_?), her pale-skinned hand clutching the fork releasing tension, before she looked to the king, a loopy smile on her face.

And then she started stuffing her face with the salad, green bits poking out of her mouth as she breathed in the food, quickly leaving no trace behind. "Oh, my dahling," she said, around a mouthful of the salad. "Oh."

After that day, the king thought that would be the end of it. That his wife would see that the rampion tasted just like spinach and that it was dumb to risk your life for a spinach wanna-be.

But instead, the queen sat at that window, pining after more of the stuff. _Pregnancy cravings,_ the doctors said sagely, yet the king saw the way she was thinning; even with all that baby fat (not that he mentioned the fat). She was wasting away for even a taste.

"Um, hey." The king scratched at his beard a few weeks after the first rapunzel incident. "So, my dear, what has been troubling you as you sit here these weeks? Y'know, stress could be bad for the baby. . ."

"I want more of the rampion. I cannot live without it." With a melodramatic gasp, she flumped over her chair air, lolling to one side. "Oh, honey-bear, would you be ever so kind and go fetch me more of the plant?"

"Well, dear, I can't really do that. You see, there's an evil witch who owns the garden and—"

"I know, you nitwit." Lifting her head just enough to snap at him, the queen rolled her eyes. And then flopped over again, moaning.

"Darling honey poo."

"Don't 'darling honey poo' me! Go get me the plant. _Now._ " The queen pointed a regal finger at him, obviously not too bad off to order him about.

"Yes, honey." The king added another complaint to his Royal List of Things to Complain About to the Royal Psychologist. Yes, a royal list.

The window hadn't gotten any larger since his last climbing out of it, which the king discovered as he tried to squeeze out. If anything, he himself had grown about the middle, now that the famine and drought were beginning to clear up.

"A little help?" He grunted, almost out, yet not quite.

"Getting fat, my love?" The queen poked his love handle, the tickly touch enough to rocket him onto the ground, face red and crown half off his head.

"Look who's talking!" he snapped, pointing to her large stomach.

"I'm _pregnant_!" she yelled, throwing a nearby baby shoe at him.

"Yea, right! You're just fat and covering it up! That's why you're trying to eat rape plants now! To get skinny!"

"What the hell is wrong with you! And it's **_rampion_** **!** Now get me my dang spinach!"

"Language!" The king gasped, covering his mouth. "My queen!"

She exhaled slowly, counting to ten. "Sorry, that just slipped out. Would you _please hurry the hell up and get me my plant now?"_

"Of course." The king smiled softly, touching her hand with his fingertips. Deep down, he loved her. No matter what, even crazy pregnant-lady hormones. They were in this together.

The king made his secretive way into the garden, tripping over plant roots and sounding like an elephant herd approaching. However, he wasn't apprehended as he descended into the garden, even as he plucked the rampion. He felt almost like there was no way that anything bad could happen. Really, though, he'd been in the garden once already, without the witch confronting him. Yami Bakura didn't just let things slide, right? The king figured that much anyway, and here he was. Pssh, even if he was caught, what then? Ohh, scary—being turned into a frog.

The king straightened, his spine reminding him of his age. He mumbled complaints against it, eyes upturning to freeze at the sight of the witch.

Yami Bakura.

Just standing there, seeming not to notice the king, who was trembling in fear as he half-stood, knees weak.

"Urmf?" The witch looked up, the strange device in the pale hand buzzing. "'GardenAlert© has detected a new presence in your garden. Is this activity recognised?' I don't give a damn about my garden's security," Yami Bakura mumbled.

But still, the soft, apple-green gaze swept over the grounds. That was when the king was noticed, hunched uncomfortably, fidgeting and waiting to be noticed, 'cause his back was back to groaning.

"Yami Bakura," he babbled, now falling to his knees, as if to beg forgiveness as the witch approached, hands tucked in deep, gently lined fabric pockets on his shirt. "Forgive me! But, it was not I who contrived such a plan as to steal from you—the hell're you wearing?" The last sentence was a hiss, the king waving his hand at the pale witch's attire. "My Ra, are you a _man_? Everyone said you were a witch, so I just assumed—"

Bakura sighed, a long, deep, used-to-it sigh, rubbing his face. "Yea, genius, I'm a man. I don't know which buggering bastard thought it'd be fun to spread the little thought that, 'hey, Bakura should totally be called a witch, not a magician.' Six and a half bloody years in Mage University overseas, and I'm a witch. Ra," he said, spitting the word in feline-esque manner, " _Magician_ , got it?"

"Yea, yea, yea, I know." The king waved his hand some more, jabbing his finger at Bakura's red hoodie-jacket. "That! That's the real problem." He lowered his voice, tugging at his breeches. "Look, we've got some real time-period Nazis out there, and hoodies and jeans are not 19th century German attire. 'Kay, mate?"

"Uh, yea, I know." Bakura tugged at the cinched material at the bottom, a light smile and pink glow settling on his face. "I mean, usually I wear the right stuff an' all, but I was in the middle of a date and then I got the whole damn GardenAlert© thing, so I didn't really have time to change." His brows drew, face clouding as he shot the king a look. "What are you doing, anyway? You interrupted something really important, you little bastard."

"Look, I'll be level with you." The king cleared his throat, regaining all the regalilty of a man not cosplaying as a German king in 1812. "My wife has some _weird_ cravings. She's pregnant, so. . ." He shrugged, grinning. "Blame her?"

"Still, you're gonna steal the spinach rape plant thing? Why _that_?"

"Ask her!" Jerking a thumb to his beloved who watched in horror, checking her nails and make-up in the window's reflective surface.

"I get it. Relax." Bakura yawned, shifting his feet, checking his mobile for the time. "I have to, like, punish you and stuff, but I really just want to get this over with." His albino eyebrows wiggled up and down in an anticipating, lusty manner. "Right, right, one second." He typed quickly, fingers rapping in rhythmic strokes across the screen.

The king stiffened, whispering a desperate _"time-period. Please!"_ This plea was unheard.

Bakura's search, **good magician punishments for interrupting kings who just cut off your chance to lay your date** , returned good results; he read off the first, blandly. "Take the next child/first-born. So, yea, the waifu's pregnant?"

"Waifu isn't a word yet."

"It is now."

"Anyway, yes, she is. So?"

"I gotta' take the kid." Bakura flipped his long hair away from his face, fingers stroking it away from his cheeks. "I mean, stupid as the thought is, top result. Can't argue with that."

"Ra, you'd be the worst father ever." The king's eyebrows lifted in amusement, smile soft. "Look, when I was twenty-four, I was seducing women into my royal harem." He frowned. "Then I got married at twenty-six."

"Ouch." Bakura leaned his weight to one side, thumbs catching in his front jeans pockets. "Well, I'm sure I can handle it or something. I'm a capable magician."

"Trust me," the king said, also slumping into a relaxed position, "you're not ready for a kid. Screaming all night long? Crapped-in pants, vomit all over your nicest shirt and non-stop tiredness? You're really gonna' sign up for all that, _out of your own free will?_ Man to man, YB, just chose whatever the second result is."

Bakura considered the thought, then shrugged, looking down at his mobile. "Turn trespasser's whole family into amphibians. Cool, I guess I'll just—"

"Baby it is." The king turned on his heel, waving the rapunzel in the air. "Okay if I keep this?"

"Yea, sure." Bakura frowned, cocking his head. Seriously, though, what the hell was he gonna' do with a baby? That was a dumb decision.

•••

The king returned to his queen then, and they shared sorrow. This was the long awaited daughter, who would fulfil her mother's secret plan of matriarchies ruling their kingdom. Without this baby, the people would label the king as a thief, a worthless person.

They had a choice to make.

A choice that could change whom the protagonist would be of a story set in 19th century Germany.

As usual, the king suggested a course of action—which the queen kindly put out of its misery, ordering her own superior idea to be carried out. The king stood by, shrugging, knowing that whatsoever his wife wanted, he must also want. That was just the way it went.

Three weeks later, Princess Bakura Amane was born, quietly, without the usual pomp of a royal child's birth. Her parents stood by her, proudly, their first child, small for his age, fiddling uncertainly at his father's leg. "Papa," he said, "she's so loud. How can she be a heavenly noise when she makes bad sounds?"

"One day, Ry-chan, she'll be big and make beautiful noises." Ryou's father scooped him up, holding the child close. The prince wiggled away, opting to play in the corridors instead.

"Are we really going through with this?" he asked, sighing. "With so much life to live, too."

"I just gave birth. Show me some sympathy." The queen impatiently held out her hand to be kissed. "Well?"

"Yes, dear." The king kissed her hand obligingly, eyes following the boy he'd always yearned for. But, his wife wanted a girl. So girl it was. He turned away, soft white blankets hanging loosely from his hands. Ry-chan'd just started talking recently, bits and scrambles of words thrown in jumbled sentences. He smiled, slow and regretful.

But this was what had to be done.

He turned to one of his nearby assistants. "Fetch the young prince," he said, blue eyes casting down. "Wrap him in these, then give him to Kalim. He'll know what to do."

"Yes, my king!" the servant said, hastily bowing and rushing off, white cloths dangling loose in his hands. The king turned away, breaths slow, burdened by his own act. What has to be done, will be done.

And that was all there was to it.


	2. Stranger

Long hair floated in the breeze, lifting white locks and tossing them as it pleased. Ryou's eyes wandered aimlessly over the forest in the distance, hand propping up his chin. From behind him, he heard snaps and barks of an arguing conversation, usual insults and curses tossed about. Nothing would come of it all, of course. Nothing ever did.

He listened to light footfalls advancing toward him. He felt a smooth hand reach up, leaving a firm pat on his head. "What'cha' looking at?" Malik asked, peering in the same direction as the teen.

"Leave him alone," Bakura yelled from further back in the tower, probably sulking from the fight he'd just had.

Ryou looked up at the dark-skinned male who popped by frequently, for no reason except to bicker with Bakura. "The trees," he replied, pointing out a certain one which held his attention. A squirrel was bobbing on a thin branch, imbalanced. "It's going to fall off."

"What is?" Malik squinted, leaning dangerously forward. Ryou jerked his arm out on instinct, pushing the blonde back. "What's falling off?"

"There's a squirrel," Ryou explained, pushing Malik back even further. " _You're_ going to fall."

"I don't see it." Malik pulled back, wandering off toward Bakura's direction.

Finally left alone, in quiet, Ryou fiddled at his hair, watching it pool over the edge of the one window in the whole tower. There was no door, just that one window, at the top of the tower, with the only way in climbing Ryou's mane of hair. Inefficiency at its zenith.

After several minutes, Malik and Bakura came out, Malik bouncing, Bakura's countenance set in a soft scowl. "We're going out," Bakura said, eyeing Ryou's hair with a grimace. "Be good while we're gone, Ryou."

"Of course I will." Ryou scooted aside, tossing down piles of hair. Bakura shuffled forward, awkwardly starting down the make-shift ladder.

Malik followed the example, shooting Ryou an apologetic look. "Ra, Bakura," he said about halfway down, probably thinking Ryou couldn't hear them. "Can't you just get a ladder?"

"Do _you_ have the money to get a damn ladder? 'Cause I don't."

"Well, using Ryou's hair doesn't seem like a great way to get up and down."

"This place was cheap, okay? Being a mage doesn't make as much as some people think and I don't see you chipping in anything, even though you practically live here, too."

"Oh, shut up! Who's always inviting me over, like, 'Malik, Malik, I'm so _lonely_!'"

"That's not what I say at all!"

Their dispute faded away as they headed away. A smile tugged at Ryou's mouth, involuntarily. For all his life, those two had never changed.

Once the pair disappeared into the distance, Ryou grabbed a hair-tie, shoving his tresses into a messy bun. He walked around the room, looked back out the window, then went into the kitchen.

There was a board that he could lift, revealing a set of stairs that led to the ground floor. There wasn't actually anything on the ground floor, or any of the floors above that (except this top-most floor), but every time they left, he looked. He was looking for a way out.

Ryou started down the stone stairs, the scent musty enveloping him, dust motes clouding his hair. Each step was uneven and steep, but the boy'd become used to it, and he actually quite enjoyed these trips. It was like diving into the unknown, trying to discover something no one had ever known existed.

It took three minutes to reach the bottom, where he lit a candle, illuminating moths and slumbering bats in the rafters, the sound of vermin scurrying away reaching his ears.

Ryou went to each wall, feeling with his hands. If there were to be some secret passage, he'd feel it better than see it. However, he'd been searching these walls nine years now and yet found nothing. There wouldn't be a way to his true home today, or tomorrow, or ever. He was stuck here, clinging to something as vague as hope.

After a few hours of checking walls and floors and playing with moths, Ryou got up, blowing out his almost exhausted candle, brushing dusts of neglect from his clothing. A bat shifted above him, muted flapping of wings alerting him to the fact.

Back up the stairs he went, fingers trailing over the walls as he went up. He hummed a tune Bakura'd mumble under his breath sometimes, when he was in a good mood, listening to the eerie echo of his own voice pulsing around the walls. Even though this place was no good for anything else, the acoustics were amazing.

Back on the top floor, the sun was at its zenith, signifying lunchtime. Good. Bakura and Malik probably wouldn't be back for another few hours, at least. That was plenty of time to do as he pleased—keep checking for a way out, maybe even try to get out the window.

Using a spoon, Ryou spread butter over his bread, having a difficult time of that. There were no knives, scissors or any other sharp things in the tower, so that Ryou couldn't cut his own hair and just escape whenever he pleased.

With the butter somewhat distributed, Ryou began nomming on the bread, sitting at the window. The tower was about six metres high, giving an excellent view into the desolate, middle-of-nowhere forest that brought plenty of creatures to the tower.

The single window had no covering, not a curtain or board or anything at all. It was a large hole cut attractively into the tower—letting in plenty of cold and rain during their seasons. Actually, the lack of people was helpful, because there was zero privacy without a curtain. The squirrels got a good view, at least.

In the distance, a figure was moving toward the tower. Ryou leaned forward, frowning. They weren't supposed to be home yet. They never came back this early.

It was a solitary figure, though, meaning either one of the pair had come back alone, or it wasn't Malik or Bakura.

Opting for the earlier, Ryou pulled the tie out of his hair and putting it in his pocket, letting his tresses fall onto the floor. He began gathering it up and heaping it on the windowsill, ready to let the enormous amount of hair fall down, acting as a ladder.

Yet, as the figure kept approaching, he seemed to look less and less like either of the two parent-figures in the boy's life. Eventually, he got close enough for Ryou to say with certainty that he was _not_ one of them.

The stranger's hair was a sandy, piled mess atop his head, sticking straight up. His skin was dark, like Malik's, but this man gave off more of a threatening aura. Ryou's heart started beating faster. This was the first time he'd seen someone other than Bakura or Malik, someone who could possibly rescue him and return him home. He waited impatiently, leaning out the window, nearly tripping over a pile of his own hair.

The man looked up, now standing directly below Ryou. Just barely from this height, Ryou could see two scars on his face, one beneath each eye, the same ones Malik wore. The teen bounced on the heels of his feet. This was perfect. This stranger was more than he had expected him to be. Even though he wore ratty clothes, the scars belied who he truly was.

"Sir," Ryou called down, leaning further down to try to catch a better view of his face.

"Yo," the man called back, head tilting up slightly.

"Have you come to rescue me?" Ryou was already throwing one leg over the windowsill, prepared to jump down. Locks of hair spilled over his shoulders, dripping down toward the ground.

The man touched one of the strands of hair that had fallen close to him, its length enough to climb up and down. He looked up again, yelling up to Ryou, "Yea, of course. Come on down."

"You'll catch me?" Ryou hesitated, suddenly not sure if dropping that far would be able to kill or seriously injure either one of them.

The man said something indistinct, fingers twining the hair around his fingers. Both stared at each other blankly.

"I'm jumping now," Ryou yelled, slipping off the windowsill, with plenty of trepidation. He wasn't falling long, but those seconds were a thrill, his hair billowing behind him, wind in his eyes, thinking _oh, Ra, he's not going to catch me, is he?_

But the man did catch him—well, sort of. He put out his arms, and Ryou landed straight on him, a yelp of pain coming from both of them as they hit the ground. Nearly six metres of hair drifted over the two like snow, catching over briars and plants.

Ryou rolled off the man, digging his hands in the ground, head thudding from the jolt of impact, limbs shivering. "I'm alive," he said, exhaling slowly. He beamed, glancing back at the man who'd rescued him. Remembering his manners, Ryou brushed himself off, standing with a wobble, left ankle shrieking at him. "Thank you, sir. Though I must say, I expected to be sent for sooner than this. Or at least, that there would be more of you."

"The hell are you talking about?" The man sat up, shaking his hand and touching his stomach gingerly. Up close, Ryou could see the colour of his eyes—light violet, threatening to fade into indigo.

"I," Ryou said, with some pride, drawing himself to full posture, "am Prince Bakura Ryoupunzel."


	3. Prince

"Prince?" Mariku fixed the white-haired teen that'd jumped out a window onto him, after he specifically said, _let me go get a ladder._ His eyes swept up the image before him, mouth twitching down into a frown. "Prince."

"You may rise," Ryoupunzel said, pushing his bangs out of his eyes. "Have my parents been very worried? It took this long to discover where I've been hidden."

"Just great," Mariku mumbled, standing, like he was going to do without the limey's permission, anyway. "Look, kid, there is no prince—except the one that died fifteen years ago. The king and queen's only brat is a girl."

"I didn't die, I was kidnapped." The so-called prince was already starting toward the woods, seemingly unperturbed. "You must've been sent by my family to fetch me. Now, which way is my kingdom? Everyone must know that I'm alive, then we shall track down the witch and urn him."

"Next town's that way," Mariku said, pointing, hand already sliding toward his belt, where his knife was. He'd thought the kid was a girl, one older than he actually seemed to be up close. But either way, Mariku wouldn't have been leaving a witness to say he'd been here.

"But will I be able to find my way to the capitol from there? And aren't you going to be helping me get there? You do serve under my father, I assume."

"Why do you assume that?" Mariku paused, hand fiddling with the knife casually. Ryoupunzel's face wasn't tense; rather, it was trusting and open, those big brown eyes dominating his features. He looked like he was asking to be used, or murdered. Either one.

The boy stalked forward with a good bit of confidence, one finger reaching out to tap one of the scars underneath Mariku's eyes.

For a moment, the man froze, transfixed by the gall of this child, unafraid to touch such a deep scar. He pulled his hand away, reaching into his pocket for a hair-tie. "That is the mark of one who serves under royalty and you came to me. You must serve under my family in some way."

Mariku laughed softly, shaking his head. "And who in the world told you that?"

"Take me home," Ryoupunzel said, smiling at Mariku's laugh. "I'm sure you'll be well rewarded."

"Really, now? How am I supposed to know that?"

"My family will be overjoyed, of course." He grinned, snuffing his toes in the dirt. "And I myself will see to it."

"How very generous," Mariku rolled his eyes, hand back to fiddling with the knife. "So, how do even know that you _are_ a prince and not just crazy?"

His face set seriously, arms crossing. "I can't remember my family," he said. "I was too young when I was taken, only two years of age, if what the witch said was correct. The only reason I know is that I heard him and his accomplice speaking of it, several years ago late at night. It seems that I was taken rather than my newly born sister at the time. Though, I'm not really sure why they'd _want_ to kidnap a newborn. I mean, come on." The so-called prince frowned, weight shifting.

"A male witch?" Mariku raised his eyebrows, hand still on his hurting midsection. "I thought those were, like, warlocks or whatever. How is the witch a male?"

"Oh, yea," Ryoupunzel said, a little laugh escaping him. "He _is_ a magician, but he gets really pissy when we call him a witch, so." He shrugged, little smile playing around his whole face.

Mariku's expression deepened, arms crossing. That sounded all too familiar and if it all lined up, then this kid really was the prince, in which case, the reward was real, the hassle worth it and maybe he could weasel a favour out of the king while he was at it.

"The capitol's four day's walk away, at least and it'll probably take longer since you're so tiny and skimpy." Mariku crossed his arms, sizing the kid up. Six or seven days, he was thinking, and that'd be at the earliest. But the reward would be worth it, if there was one, and after fifteen years of a missing kid, there'd better be one.

"We should leave now, then," Ryoupunzel said, beaming. He stood beside Mariku, a little too close, head tilting to one side. "I never got your name, sir. What was it?"

Mariku hesitated. Those big, brown eyes trusted him completely, didn't they?

"Mariku," he said, exhaling slowly and cursing Ra for making such adorable puppy eyes even possible.


	4. Slow and Steady

"Mariku," Ryou pulled the word in-between his teeth, exhaling it in a breath. "Interesting."

The king's servant tilted his head, mouth sliding to the right side of his face. The experience of meeting the thought-to-be-dead prince had obviously hurt his brain. Ryou offered him a quick smile. "Come," he said, beckoning imperially, "take me to my home."

"You're facing the wrong direction," Mariku said, voice flat as he started away from the woods. The teen tagged along after him, glancing over his shoulder at the woods. Bakura and Malik wouldn't be home for a while yet—he'd be long gone from the witch and his accomplice by the time they even discovered he was gone. A long smile ran over his face.

Ryou kept pace with Mariku, arms swinging and shoulders thrown back. He could feel the awed violet gaze taking him in. "Stop that," the stranger said, flicking the boy's temple.

Politely, Ryou let the touch pass unpunished, but moved slightly away. "Stop what?" he asked.

"Walking like an idiot." Mariku also moved away from him, mouth pinched into a small straight line. "You look like a fool."

Their stares clashed and Ryou cleared his throat, politely. "Yes, of course. Sorry."

They walked in silence for a few minutes, aside from the animals' chatter all about them, filling the air with a soft buzz. "So," Mariku said, stretching out his arms above his head. His shirt rose, a flash of something catching Ryou's eye before the ratty garment fell back in place.

"So?" Ryou replied, studying where he had seen that small something, whatever it was. Yes, there was a small bulge there, barely noticeable.

"Do you know why you were kidnapped at all? I mean, why would some random witch want to raise a two-year-old prince?"

"I've heard them speak of that as well," Ryou said. He could feel Mariku's lazy eyes trained on him, sharpened into a harsh gaze. "I'm not really sure _why_ they took me, honestly, but Bakura said something about a—a, um, rape plant. . .? I think? Something like that. Anyway, because my mother was ailing, the king had to take this plant to her. But the witch wouldn't allow it without something in return and for whatever reason, I guess he wanted to start a family? I came in the middle of the conversation, so I'm not certain about the contextual importance of some of the information."

"That witch's accomplice you keep talking about—what's his name?" Mariku pushed his long bangs out of his eyes, fruitlessly, as it turned out, since they fell right back over his face.

"Malik Ishtar. Not that it matters; he's a buffoon." Ryou contemptuously snorted, eyes hardening.

Mariku made a little "humph" noise, crossing his arms.

Several minutes later, Ryou turned to his companion. "Are we almost to a town?" he asked, glancing over his shoulder. The tower was still in view, not really all that much smaller. He frowned. He'd expected to travel faster, but perhaps he'd been over-estimating how quickly travel worked.

The dark-skinned man laughed, picking up his pace and letting Ryou struggle to catch up. "No way in hell, Limey. It'll be another few hours still."

"I see." Ryou fell quiet, peering into the distance. It was speckled with trees and birds, holding no promise of any sort of civilisation, meaning no faster mode of transport. He looked over at Mariku, dressed in worn clothing and gold jewellery, those scars beneath his eyes belying of his service to the king. "Tell me now, are you equipped with enough money to pay us to the capital?"

"Yea, I wish." Mariku rolled his eyes, which soon flickered to the horizon. "Like I said, we're at least a week's walk from getting to the capital. Till then, you'll just have to suck it up and keep walking, 'cause I won't be carrying you if you collapse."

"I won't collapse and I wouldn't expect you to carry me, anyway." Ryou drew himself up, pushing his gait a little faster.

"We're gonna' be walking all day, you know. Don't push it too hard."

"I'm capable of this."

"You've been locked in that tower your whole life, right? Barely any exercise? You're not going to be doing yourself any favours at all going at that pace."

Ryou ignored his words, walking alongside his companion. "I told you, I'm just fine."

"Whatever you say, princess." Mariku shook his head, a smirk rising up to his lips. It pulled at a nerve somewhere in the prince, as if his whole cocky attitude hadn't done that already.

Fifteen minutes of stubborn walking later, Ryou was beginning to pant, straining to keep pace, even on such a flat expanse of land. He glanced over his shoulder to see that the tower was still visible, taunting him with how close they still were. He felt Mariku also look back, before dropping his steady gait.

"Why are you slowing down?" Ryou asked, sucking in air and shaking out his tingly legs.

"You're not gonna' make it half-way to the next town, no matter how slow we walk. But I want you to make it at least half-way." Mariku stood still, waiting for Ryou to join him. They both stood, while the prince regained his breath. Then they set off, slow and steady, going easy for Ryou's sake.

Ryou exhaled slowly now, careful to try to cling to the last of his stamina. Mariku stayed close, constantly eyeing the boy with little snorts and noises along that vein. Choosing to say nothing to this and just reserve his strength was difficult for the prince, but he managed it, somehow.

It took another hour before the occasional stumble or trip in Ryou's pace turned into wobbling, near-collapsing, often blunders. His knees hit the ground again, but this time, Mariku caught the back of his shirt, pulling him upright. "Whoa there, Ryoupunzel," he said, roughly shoving him into a sitting position.

"Just Ryou, please." The teen huffed, yanking in deep breaths to fill his dying lungs. "I didn't know that just _walking_ could be so exhausting."

"Well, yea, when you're a pansy, that happens." Marik balanced on the balls of his feet, crouching beside Ryou. He bounced impatiently, looking back the way they'd come.

Ryou looked behind, as well, seeing the receding tower. It was much less visible, thank Ra. Just the leering top part of it stared at them, looking like it was threatening to tattle on them to the witch. "We're still so close to it," Ryou said, frowning.

"Forty-five minutes or so a healthy man's walk away," Mariku said, easing into a cross-legged sitting pose.

"Not that far. Like I said."

"Not bad, though, for having walked this long. Just a few more minutes, then we're moving again. Got that?"

"Yes, thank you." Ryou nodded curtly, pulling loose strands of hair away from his face.

Mariku grunted, falling onto his back, stretching his limbs out as he went. Rotting leaves cushioned him, pressing around his face. Ryou looked to the sky, watching the sparse trees extend armfuls of new leaves and tightly sealed flower buds. Together, the pair watched the trees dance, showering all manners of shade and blessing over them, with only the pleasing sound of rustling leaves in the cool, gentle breeze.


	5. Settling In

Cool, pleasant breezes were playing with Mariku's hair, lifting it from his eyes, then shoving it back down. It was tempting to lie here quite a while longer, let sleeping leaves and whispering wood nymphs tempt him into leisure.

Yet he had the boy to deposit at the capital. Time wouldn't wait on them.

"Break's over," Mariku said, slowly exhaling as he sat up. "You good, prince?" He spoke the word with all manners of sarcasm, lips curling up slightly at the edges as he said it. "Don't want you too banged up when we get there; it's only day one, after all."

"It's been more than a few minutes," Ryou said. He braced himself against the ground, managing to hoist himself back onto his feet. "Shall we be off, then? What's a few extra minutes of rest?"

Travelling with the boy wasn't so bad, actually. Late Summer sighed placidly throughout the day, washing its heat away with singing wind. Each hour of movement was marked by the sun's own journey and a short period of rest.

Ryoupunzel didn't hold up well, breathing ragged, even as they were static after each hour. He was unnerving Mariku with all of broken respirations and panting.

The sky was just barely getting tinted orange when Mariku stopped, looking back at Ryou, who was lagging behind. "Look, if you're done for the day, just say so. Are you done?"

"It's not dark yet." Ryou shook his head, expression pinched. "Besides, we'll be to town soon, right? It's about another hour, isn't it? I'll be okay."

"Sure." Mariku let out a sigh, shrugging. Kid collapsed, then they'd just spend the night where he hit the ground. "You happen to bring any food with you?"

"Um, no. Didn't you?"

"I've got food for _me._ Wasn't expecting to be draggin' you about with me."

"I expected a proper escort back home, but not everything can be perfect." Ryou's voice was dry, his steps all shaking. Any second now, he'd give out.

"Haven't the money to get you food in town, either, so don't look at me like that."

"Mariku? I-I think we're not going to get into town until tomorrow," Ryou said in a rush, hand fumbling out to grasp Mariku's shoulder.

The boy's grip wasn't a womanish touch, but rather a firm clutch of a desperate man. It surprised Mariku. He stopped, glancing over his shoulder. "Sit," he said, nodding lightly. The thinning woods weren't great for night-time coverage, but things had certainly been worse for Mariku.

Obediently, Ryou sat. His eyes were shut, breaths coming in and out with a noticeable shake to them. "I feel sick," he said, teeth gripping his lower lip.

Mariku huffed, crouching. "I bet. Just lay on your back till you don't feel like vomiting anymore. Got it?"

"Got it." Ryou laid down, fists clenching in the leaf-strewn grass. "Just, be still?"

"Uh-huh." Mariku stood, taking a step backward. "I'll be back. You stay here, kid."

While the prince rested amongst the leaves, Mariku was free to check out the trees, scouting the ones which already had inhabitants, the ones too frail to be of any use and the rest—potential candidates.

He didn't expect Ryou to be able to climb up a tree, honestly, but with enough pushing and persuasion he'd be able to get his charge up there.

Once he'd picked one out, Mariku pulled out his knife, making a small _X_ on one of the branches before heading back to Ryou.

The boy was still laying there, eyelids pulled down over his brown eyes, chest rising and falling in a regular pattern. Mariku nudged his side with the toe of his shoe. "Hey. Up. Let's go; I've found a place to sleep."

Ryou's eyes opened, before he sat up, looking at Mariku. "I'm hungry," he said.

"Oh well. I've nothing for you, so get used to it."

"But I need food, or at least water. Do you—"

"I just told you I don't have anything for you."

With a short puff of air, Ryou pushed himself to his feet. "Where're we sleeping? Was town not that far?"

"Tree." Mariku set off at a quick pace, back to his tree. Ryou tagged along behind him, breathing still heavy. "When we get to town, we won't be staying long, anyway."

"Why?" The word burst out from behind Mariku, especially loudly, considering the state the prince was in.

"You wanna' see your family, right? We shouldn't delay for too long; the royals'll be waiting for you."

"I suppose so. But—"

" _I'm_ escorting you. Get used to way _I_ do things, or else you aren't going to last long travelling with me." Mariku turned, looking the teen up and down. He couldn't be too heavy with that height and build.

"This is no way to treat royalty, though," Ryou said, crossing his arms.

Mariku rolled his eyes. "Right, yea. No one else offered to get you out of that tower, though, did they? You're either with me or you're on your own. Now get in the tree."

"I don't know how." Ryou approached the tree, helplessly patting the trunk.

"Then watch me," Mariku said. He planted one foot on a lower branch, boosting himself high enough to grab the upper branches. Hanging onto these, he pushed up, feet moving to stand on even higher branches. He continued this process, until he eventually sat in a densely-leaved portion of the tree, about two and a half metres up.

Ryou's face was upturned, twisted into a musing look of curiosity.

"You saw that fine?"Mariku called, settling against the trunk.

"Yea, I'll be up soon," was the confident reply, followed by grunting, panting and lots of unsteadily rustling leaves.

A full six minutes later, Ryou stuck his face into Mariku's, grinning widely. "I'm up," he said, swinging around to sit on a branch not far from the other's."That wasn't so bad. How're we supposed to sleep like this?"

"Close your eyes, hold still and hope you don't fall off in the night."

"Oh. I see. Goodnight, Mariku."

Mariku didn't reply, one ankle kicked over the other, watching the sky. The sun was setting, sighing out orange hues over red and violet, settling into the horizon for the night. All of the wind had left them, leaving the crickets their silent canvas.

The singing bugs struck their orchestra, sending Mariku and his younger charge off to dreams and nightmares, swirling shades of past and future the colours to fill these sleeping thoughts.


End file.
